


Shelter

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Caring Sam, Cheesy, Comfort Sex, Comforting Dean, Cunnilingus, Dean asks too many questions, Dean is a Softie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Forgive Me, Gentle Sex, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Innocence, Insecurity, Mild Language, Nervousness, Oblivious Dean, Pregnancy, Sam Hates Secrets, Scary Dean, Secret Crush, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Fantasy, Shyness, Sleepy Kisses, Sleepy Sex, Sub Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Triggers, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Young, some dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***Originally titled: Say Something***</p><p>How Dean loves a self conscious young woman.</p><p>!! If this seems like some uber-fluffy, kind of cliché fic...well, it kind of is xD I had to. Forgive me !!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She's tracing _them_ with gentle fingers, her eyes honing in on the jagged lines reflected in the floor length mirror of her bedroom. She twists to the right and the lines blend with crinkles of skin, pulling a sigh from her lips. She straightens herself and line reform, become even more prominent and she feels the flood gates threatening to burst.

She reaches up and pokes at the skin of her belly, the marks marring her hips, her thighs, her breasts.

She whispers something under her breath and reaches for her bra draped over the stool to her right, tugging it on in agitation before she sits on the floor, starting to put on her make up; why, there's really no point, she's not going anywhere.

"Dean? What are you doing?"

Dean jumped and twisted around, careful not to put any pressure on the door to make those hinges creak. Sam was staring at him with an eyebrow raised, laptop tucked under his arm and a sandwich in his hand.

"I uh," Dean shook his head. "I thought I heard something and -"

"Decided to spy on Jeanne," Sam got this look close to disgust on his face. "Dean -"

His turn to cut off his brother. "I wasn't spying on her," he snapped and winced when he hears a noise in her room; she was just humming. "I seriously came in here for a reason but I just. . .okay, I know this looks bad but its not. I promise."

"Mhhmm," Sam gave him his usual look - you know, disgust. "Look, just leave her alone. She's been kind of off lately. Give her some space."

Dean had noticed that too, which was a part of the reason he had come and spy on her (hey, he can admit it inside of his own head, not like Sam could hear his confession in there. . .maybe). He liked the girl, liked her since they had picked her up: She was covered in blood, shaking and terrified. And, after months of hard work and coddling from Sam, some guidance from Dean. . .

Usually, Jeanne was Momma Bear.

She would greet them with a big smile and food she had been working on all day - not because she was a home maker, she just always said she enjoyed cooking, and they certainly weren't complaining; she had an affinity for it. She'd have her off days, obviously, and they came more often than her happy days. . .

But over the past couple of days she had been dull, she had been spending most of her time on her phone, curled up in her room playing video games - which, of course, wasn't that different but it was becoming a marathon for her. And she has made the point of avoiding Dean, sending Sam when she wanted to know if he needed anything.

Color Dean curious.

It couldn't be because of what he saw, could it? The marks. . .was Jeanne self conscious? Well, what girl wasn't somewhere inside?

"Fine," he conceited. "I'll just. . .wait for her to talk."

Sam drew up a mildly sassy look and Dean wanted to punch him. "The mighty Dean Winchester taking my advice? I'm shocked, to say the least."

"What the Hell are you two standing outside my door for?"

Both brothers looked to the door, only Sam looked like he expected it but Dean had not. Jeanne was leaning against the door frame, appearing thoroughly annoyed with the fact just stated. She slowly arched an eyebrow and rolled her hand in the air, encouraging either brother to speak up but really getting nowhere.

"Okay," she murmured suspiciously; she had every right. "I'm just gonna. . .shut this now. And whenever you two remember what speech is, you can get back to me on this."

Sam just sighed as the door shut closed softly, Dean watching him walk down the hallway towards his bedroom while Jeanne began to sing softly on the other side of her bedroom door; he hadn't heard her sing in a long time.

Dean sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets, shaking his head as he went to search for - what else - pie.

"I just need to get drunk. . .that's it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slow chapter but things pick up, promise

"Okay so the bones were set up for the display in the college. . ."

Dean arched an eyebrow as he wandered into the archives, seeing Jeanne hunched over a thick binder with newspaper clippings and handwritten notes. He sat down across from her, taking a slow sip from his beer before setting it down on the table top with a clank loud enough to earn a glare.

"Classroom 127," she ignored him, straightening her back. "Yeah, third floor of that building. Get in and get out, alright? Don't need someone questioning why you're cuddling with a skeleton," she paused, nodding slowly. "Yeah. . .yeah, alright. See ya when you get back."

He chuckled as she hit End on her phone, earning just another glare as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Aw, c'mon sweetheart," he smirked. "What's got your panties in a bunch?"

She opened her mouth to speak but just rolled her eyes. Jeanne grabbed her phone again and went about typing something on it, ignoring him.

And of course, Dean couldn't stand that.

He leaned back in his chair and kicked a leg up, his booted foot resting on her chair, between her legs. She looked up sharply and he smirked, taking another long draw from his beer. Just what he missed, teasing her; the rose tint to her cheeks, the way she got so embarrassed with just something like this.

"C'mon," he whined. "You've been edgy all week. What's up?"

Jeanne stared at him for a long time, her brow furrowed like she was holding in something very important. She relaxed a little and shrugged, leaning back in her chair a little more.

"Nothing," she shook her head and adverted her eyes down to the screen of her phone. "Just been a little distracted is all. I just hit level fifty three on my game and I'm bored outta my mind. Think I should restart?"

Dean grumbled. "You're a bad liar," she pouted. "Lets start with the obvious - I don't care what you do on your game."

Cue another offended look.

Jeanne huffed and pushed back from the table, gaining a small smirk of satisfaction as Dean looked up in terror when his foot suddenly slipped. He grabbed onto the edge of the table as she grabbed her phone and two of the books from where she had been sitting, having to haul himself up when he slipped.

"Heathen," Dean grumbled, rising from his seat.

"Suck my cock, Dean Winchester," Jeanne chirped, headed for the kitchen.

"You're a girl," and he was following her. "Now come on, tell me what's up."

She whirled on him in the hallway, hair coming to cover most of her face as she cocked a hip. She blinked up at him slowly, eyes narrowed in scrutiny; she was so damn short.

"You never give a single shit when I'm sad," she paused. "You never even notice," she visibly bit her tongue. "So, do me a favor and be oblivious this time."

"What the Hell are you talking about," he started following her when she continued to walk.

She glared over her shoulder. "Don't," she snapped. "Just let me know when Sam gets back, can you manage that?"

He almost said something scathing, but knew he would regret it so he just curled his hands at his sides. She bobbed her head once and ducked her head, typing away on her phone as she turned into the kitchen.

Dean shook his head and turned on his heel, headed for his bedroom for privacy to grumble without judgement.

 

~~~ 

Sam was in just after midnight, looking thoroughly worn out. He locked the door to the bunker behind him and adjusted his pack on his shoulder, shrugging down the steps.

It was a simple salt & burn, but Sam hadn't stopped at a motel so he had been driving all night on top of running to save his ass from being caught by the security guards at the college. His muscles ached like they hadn't in awhile - they had been living pretty domestic since Jeanne moved in so that made sense for the aches and pains.

He was mildly surprised to see Dean with his boots propped up on the long table, but not overly surprised because Dean occasionally had night terrors and well - here they were.

"Hey man," Sam furrowed his brow a little. "Everything okay?"

It took Dean a minute to look away from whatever he was watching on the laptop, but when he did Sam could tell there was a confrontation ahead. It was all in the familiar set of his jaw and the ways his eyes narrowed slightly in the corners.

He hit pause on the laptop as Sam shrugged his bag off, letting it hit the floor as Dean pulled his legs down from the table.

Dean leaned forward, pursing his lip before he pointed towards the hall that led to the bedrooms. "You got somethin' going on with her," he questioned.

Okay, not what he was expecting.

"Who," Sam asked slowly.

Dean shook his head and straightened his back, placing both hands on his knees. "The toaster," they both rolled their eyes at each other. "Who do you think - Jeanne?"

Sam hesitated. "No, no of course not. Why?"

Dean shook his head. "I've been trying all week to get her to talk to me and every time I try she just tells me to fuck off and goes looking for you. So what's going on?"

Sam shrugged, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. "She's just having a hard time. You didn't bother her about it did you?"

"I tried," Sam sighed. "What? She's been blowing me off every time. Its aggravating. Did I do something?"

Sam shook his head again and bent down, grabbing his bag. "No, not really," Dean's suspicions deepened. "Just give it a few more days and she'll be out of this funk. Now, I'm tired. I'm gonna shower and go to sleep. You should do the same."

Dean didn't say anything after that, mainly because Sam was making sure of putting as much distance as possible between them, as fast as possible and Dean wasn't really up for chasing his brother down.

Not right now, anyway.

He grumbled and leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. Why did he care so much about this? Maybe because Jeanne was one of the only women in his life to provide stability and warmth without being snatched away by some monster. She never left the bunker, kept to her studies and her video games; once she had finished her online classes, she had said something about going to get a job in the city.

Maybe she was just stressed because that deadline was fast approaching?

No, it had to have something to do with him. She'd talk to Sam and make it very clear she didn't want Dean to know about what they talked about. The both of them had told him to leave her alone, give her space. Sam had to be lying and they were hooking up, but why would it matter about Dean not knowing? He didn't care what they did.

"File that for another day," Dean murmured to himself, turning off the laptop and grabbing his empty beer bottle.

He dropped it into the trash and turned off the lights, having a brief moment of blindness before he blinked it away and headed for his bedroom.

His bedroom.

God, what a glorious fact to be able to say.

He'd only ever had a motel room to share, be it with Sam or the Lady Of the Evening. Now he had a room all to himself - though Sam didn't understand knocking - and it was refreshing.

But it was next door to Jeanne's and he couldn't help but notice her light was on - where it had been off before Sam had come in. So that meant Sam was in there and Dean had to be nosey, which meant hurrying to his room and pressing his ear against the wall.

This felt really stupid.

He heard Jeanne's soft voice mumbling, then the deep rumble of his brothers voice but couldn't make out a lot of what they were saying; he jumped when he could have sworn he heard someone sob. No, that was a ridiculous thought to have, further pushed by the fact that there was no other noise to be heard after that.

Dean pulled away from the wall and furrowed his brow, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it into the chair beside his bed. He didn't need to be trying to spy on her and he shouldn't be letting this get to him at all -- he didn't care. Usually. He usually just brushed it off and went about his business, but he had never had this directed so bluntly towards him.

He almost groaned when he heard the door creak open, working on the buttons of his flannel with his back to the door.

"Sam, I swear, you have to work on this whole knocking thing," he began to pull the flannel off as he turned.

Jeanne was in the doorway, her cheeks flushed - that had to be another mistake of his mind tonight - and her body language hesitant as she held the black shirt to his chest. He arched an eyebrow, tossing the flannel onto his bed as he approached her. She kept her eyes down on the floor, brow furrowed in annoyance as she looked up at him.

"Gonna speak, kid," he questioned.

She shook her head softly. "Uh. . .sorry, I didn't think you had went to bed yet," she held the shirt out to him. "I got one of your shirts mixed up in my laundry. Here."

Plain black, not that hard to mix up. He took it from her and smiled, which seemed to make her fidget.

"Thanks," he paused. "Sam wake you up?"

She cocked her head. "Oh, no I wasn't asleep. I was. . .on my phone."

Of course. "Well, I'm going to sleep," blunt and rude, he didn't really care; he was annoyed.

Usually, she would do something like kick the door right back into his face and lecture him about manners. But she did none of what he expected, she just let the door shut in her face, which shocks him slightly. He doesn't normally do things likes that to her, unless he and Sam have had a huge blow up; even then, she just avoids him, gives him his space.

He almost considers opening the door and apologizing, but then he hears the soft click of her door and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm so gonna regret that when she gets back to normal," he grumbles.

~~~

"Sure you don't want anything to drink?"

Sam smiles softly. "Nah, I'm good with water. Seriously."

Jeanne hummed, holding the pint of ice cream close to her chest, lifting the spoon to her mouth. "We need to go shopping," she murmured, more to herself than anything else.

"I can take ya."

She looked up, seeing Dean putting his plate into the strainer she had set on the side of the sink. He looked over at her expectantly and she realized she hadn't answered him; she looked over at Sam and he was busy eating. She turned back Dean and he suddenly looked a little peeved, which made her nervous.

"Uh. . .well, yeah," she shrugged and took a bite of ice cream. "Why not," the sweetness stung her teeth, coupling with the cold.

She cringed and quickly shoved her ice cream into the fridge, spoon and all, doing an odd little dance as she said something akin to 'owey' like a child at the pain. She waved her hands and Sam chuckled, Dean smirking as she took in a deep gulp of breath, leaning on the counter.

"Oh calm down," Dean chuckled and pulled the ice cream from the fridge. "Just a little sting," he used her spoon to take a bite before tossing that into the sink and putting the ice cream into the freezer.

"Just a little sting," she shook her head. "That shit hurt! Holy crap," she mumbled the last part.

"You say shit then crap," Dean chuckled.

Jeanne rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter. "I'm going to take a shower," she pointed at Sam. "Make a list, please," she pointed to Dean. "Behave."

Dean gave her a look that read 'seriously' but she just waved a hand at him, walking out of the kitchen as she began to rake her hair back into a bun.

"Told you," Sam mumbled around a mouthful of whatever rabbit food he was eating. "Give her space and she'd be back to normal."

"But she's not normal," Dean groaned as he stretched. "She's still spacey. Has been all morning."

"Don't interrogate her while you shop," Sam paused. "I can go instead, if that's what you plan on doing."

Dean glared at him, gripping the edge of the counter. "I'm not gonna interrogate her," he snapped. "I'm not even gonna shop with her - I got some stuff I need to do in town anyway."

Sam rolled his eyes and set down his fork, wiping his mouth with the napkin beside him. "Don't buy dirty magazines when you're with her either," he grumbled, which annoyed Dean.

It wasn't taking much lately.

"Why not, she doesn't care."

Sam looked ready to say something then closed his mouth, making a slash through the air with his hand before grabbing his plate. "I'm not even gonna say anything," he sounded more like he was talking to himself. "Just be nice to her, okay? I still say I can go."

"You keep treating me like I'm the younger brother," Sam snorted, rinsing his plate. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean, just forget it. You'll do fine - I believe in you."

What the Hell was going on with those two?

Opinions and moods keep shifting, Dean was gonna go insane by the time they decided to get back to normal - whenever they decided to do that.

 ~~~

"You gonna talk to me at all?"

Jeanne blinked a couple of times, looking at him so slowly it was creepy and she smirked as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. She never got to make Dean Winchester squirm, it boosted her mood a little.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Mr. Winchester," she snickered.

He huffed and eased on the gas, pulling past the stop sign. "I hate when you do that," but he was happy to see her semi-normal.

She didn't say anything after that, just staring out the window. She never cared for talking much, mainly on drives or when they were in public. Otherwise, she never shut the Hell up; he actually wondered about her thought process sometimes.

"Where we headed," he questioned.

"Just the market next to the Smoke Shop. We don't need much, just drinks and a few other things," she pat her knee once, eyes still lingering outside the window. "Hey," he perked up and leaned towards her, but kept his eyes on the road. "I'm sorry about snapping at you the past couple of days."

He blinked and straightened himself. "Its cool, I shouldn't have probed but you were being a bitch."

"My, you do have a way with words," she mumbled.

He winked as he parked the Impala, pulling the keys into his coat pocket. "You know it, baby."

She shook her head. "Don't call me baby."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sam is the keeper of many secrets: of his own, his brothers and every other character in between.

And the newest to his vault? Jeanne.

He didn't feel quite comfortable holding her secrets, especially the big one, but wasn't it small compared to so many others she was holding?

Either way, he felt like the wrong person she should be confiding in. But she did so anyway, said she wouldn't want to talk to anyone else. He was easy and listened where everyone else just nodded and tried to give their own opinions; she didn't want opinions, she wanted to vent to something besides the mirror.

And what she vented most about just walked through the door.

"Where's Jeanne," Sam questioned, rising from his seat as Dean entered through the garage door.

Dean looked up, setting down the bags in his hands. "She fell asleep in the car. Did you let her sleep last night? She's out cold."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, tugging down his shirt at the hem. "I'll go get her," he said gruffly.

Dean waved a hand and twisted his face up, like he thought Sam was insulting him. "I can get her," he pointed down and made a circle with his finger. "Go put this stuff up. And don't worry - no magazines you should feel violated touching."

Sam sighed in relief as he turned his back and trooped back out into the garage, the sigh for more than one reason. He gathered the bags and peeked out through the crack in the door, seeing Dean gathering Jeanne up in his arms fairly easily, but Sam knew from experience Jeanne was a handful; literally.

Sam shook his head and moved to the kitchen, putting what he could where Jeanne would (Queen of OCD, if he ever saw one) and left what wasn't food in the bags to take those to Jeanne's room; he had no idea what some of this stuff was. Lots of colors in there.

He hoped to slip in and slip out, he never felt comfortable going into her room when she was asleep or not there, but Dean was there already, sitting on the edge of the bed and whispering something to a half-asleep teen. She was smiling up at him, curled on her side and still wearing her shoes, but she looked more comfortable than he had seen her in a long time.

Should he ruin the moment?

Sam decided against it and just turned around, moving silently towards the renovated-entertainment room. Really, its a poor excuse for a room but they managed with a single couch and Jeanne had mentioned that the television - which was brilliantly sleek and new - was completely free; leave it to Jeanne and her five finger discounts, she was worse than them with their credit card scams.

 ~~~

"You sure about this?"

Jeanne nodded and Dean follow suit slowly, still skeptical about the whole ordeal. What started with her apologizing for falling asleep in the car, turned into her wanting to start hunting with them. He didn't understand the exact connection but he supposed he could just roll with it for awhile; this was the most she had talked to him in two weeks.

"I've hunted before, just not monsters - unless a bear counts but I didn't get the shamed glory of that kill," Jeanne sighed and stared at the reflection from the mirror showing them back.

Dean looked at the mirror and she seemed to be a little entranced.

Questions had been eating at him for days now, questions he had never felt to ask someone like Jeanne before - she wasn't one for mush wholesale like him, unless the mood suddenly struck her and then she would just glomp Sam with the hugs, knowing Dean's preferences. Her biggest form of affection or opening up was food and it showed with how positively delicious it was.

Enough praising her food in your head, dumbass.

"Hey," she blinked and looked up at him; he was gonna hate breaking that calm. "Are you mad at me?"

She got this bewildered look on her face and sat up, crossing her legs under her. "No," she almost looked like she wanted to laugh. "Why?"

Dean shook his head. "Because you've been acting positively bat shit crazy lately. Avoiding me, getting mad at every damn thing I did. When I tried to ask what was wrong you blew me off and said I never cared - kid, I've never seen you depressed or scared so it makes it difficult to protect you from shit that does that to you."

Had he really just said all of that? If that surprised him, the next words from her mouth really threw him for a loop.

"I get scared a lot, Dean," she murmured, looking just as uncomfortable as him. "I. . .I get scared all the time. When you call and say something happened to Sam - when something's happened to you. My life, the job, the future - it's all just coming at me real fast and I just. . .can't."

He stares at her with a furrowed brow as she looks down, cheeks red and eyes wet; a tear drips off the end of her nose. He'd seen her cry a handful of times since she had been around but even he knew what finally broken looked like.

"Hey, hey, hey," he reached out to pull her to him and she seemed hesitant at first, but then there was something in the way she buried herself against his chest, like she couldn't wait too. "Come on, it's not that bad. Calm down. I don't have any shtick for this kind of situation."

She barked out a laugh against his chest and he cracked a small smile, not really keeping his arms wrapped around her, just one draped over her back, fingertips brushing the skin of her thigh. Would it be a bad time to question the markings up her thighs? Or would that let her know he had been spying on her when she stared in utter loathing at her reflection?

He doesn't realize what he's doing until she pushes his hand away, and then he notices how he's brushed her shorts up, exposed a jagged line to his fingers. The strip of skin is pliable under his fingers and digs in like there's emptiness behind it, the scab flexing taught skin.

But he doesn't get to examine it long because she tugs her shorts down and pulls away from him, like he just stung her.

"Don't touch those, please," she murmurs.

He's had enough.

Dean was never gentle with anyone unless they were a lover, and even then it was a shaky principal to uphold but he didn't want to scare the girl off. Though, right now, Jeanne was not a lover and the gentleness was over.

"Let me see them," he said firmly; a warning.

Her eyes widened slightly and then narrowed in defense; honestly, a pissed off Jeanne would make him tremble. She wasn't blunt, straightforward, she'd get him when and where he least expected it. He'd seen her and revenge, it was genuinely terrifying seeing such venom from a normally level headed and warm person.

Vengeance was her element.

But he would see them, the cuts too clean and precise to be an accident.

Jeanne tightened her legs against her chest. "No," she snapped, almost looking desperate.

"My patience is out the window, Jeanne," had he ever really said her name? By how funny it tasted on his tongue, he doubted it. "Just let me see them."

"Piss off, Winchester," so they were back to a last name thing with her? Perfect.

Dean growled a little, something that sounded inhuman inside of him, and wrapped a huge hand around her ankle, jerking her towards him. She yelped and scrambled backwards, opening her mouth to - no doubt - call for Sam, but he clamped his other hand down over her mouth. There was almost terror in her eyes and she looked close to tears again, but he pulled her closer, the culprit thigh stretched over his lap.

She manages to snag enough skin between her teeth to cause pain and he jerked his hand away glaring at her but he reached around, pressing a hand somewhere close to the swell of her ass; there was the real fear, the shiver of terror and the Goosebumps across her skin. He felt bad, honestly, but God damn was he tired of this whole game she was trying to play with him.

"I'm gonna look at them even if you try to shoot me," he snapped, fingers tightening around the back of her knee when she tried to pull away.

"Let me go, Dean," her voice shook and she squirmed, cheeks hot. "Please."

He ignored her and reached for her shorts, brushing them up despite the whimper in her throat. There, amongst the several strikes of stretch marks, were the healing, thin, cuts made by her very hands.

He looked up at her and saw her crying, lips sealed tight to deny a sob that was making her throat and chest swell. Dean swallowed slowly, pressing his hand flat against the cuts and stroking one with his thumb; he'd never noticed how soft her skin was.

"Jeanne. . .what the Hell," he didn't mean to whisper, but he did.

She look horrified and he felt uncomfortable. "I. . ." She swallowed and hiccupped, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. "I don't know," she whispered, so low he almost didn't hear it.

Dean gave her a look she blatantly hated but he tugged her closer, pulling her into his lap to hug her tightly. She wiggled for a moment then paused, wrapping her arm and legs around him, clinging like a spider monkey and he is patient with the trembling.

"Hey," he whispers into her ear. "Its okay. . .its okay. . ."

Its the best he's got and she just tightens herself around him; fuck, he'd forgotten she's actually pretty fucking strong.

"Its not okay," she murmurs against his throat and all instinct is bubbling up. "It's never fucking okay, Dean. Never."

He pulls her back a little, feeling like he's coddling a child; he was always good at calming Sam during a crisis, when he was a kid anyway. But Jeanne was entirely different story, she was a girl for starters and Sam never cut himself; he was just sad and angry about being so different from Dean and his father.

"What the Hell do you mean," he whispers, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it. "You and Sam drive me crazy with this stuff. You got to have a success at college, you're sweet and you manage to take care of both Sam and I - Jeanne, what is so wrong with you?"

She gives him a small, sad smile and he doesn't miss the way she strokes his back for that fleeting moment. "I can't tell you everything Dean," she murmured. "I just can't. . .there are some things I'll leave to Sam. But I guess I can tell you one thing even though it feels like I'm about to have a heart attack."

He had to chuckle at that. "I think you'll do just fine."

She breaths in deeply through her nose, out slowly through her mouth. "This little position we're in," she couldn't look him in the eyes. "Has been a minor fantasy of mine for awhile now."

Oh.

Well, that just increased the awkwardness ten-fold but Dean couldn't really say he was shocked. . .not entirely.

Of course, he had never seen Jeanne as anything but a temporary care taker until she left to live her life - a life she deserved. And Jeanne had never given any indication that she even liked men - or women for that matter - he didn't even think she was human at this point. She never had dates, never fawned over a guy, never even mentioned love outside of the need to take care of others.

But now a lot of things made sense.

"Is that so," he couldn't suppress the shit-eating grin on his face.

Her cheeks seemed to get darker. "Oh my God," she started to pull back. "Let me go hide please. Oh my God," like she couldn't believe what she'd just said.

"Hey," he tugged her against him, finding the sight of her so embarrassed genuinely adorable. "Sweetheart, calm down. There's no need to hide. . .come on."

Her nostrils flared and she hesitantly looked up at him, looking suddenly very pale; he could feel her heart beat vibrating her entire body. He chuckled softly, hand slowly stroking the small of her back, definitely amused by how hot her skin was.

Her cheeks were hot as she shook her head, taking a steady breath with a faint, bitter, smile on her lips. "Dean, I'm not. . .gonna fawn over your looks - I gotta say, I don't really care about them. I mean, really who can say that, apparently you know how attractive you are," he smirked and chuckled lowly to himself, to which she had to roll her eyes. "But. . .guys like you only ever wanted to be my friend. I had their sense of humor, I listened when they decided to be a little open but I was only one of the guys by then. Two dates and. . .they said they couldn't handle me. . .so men put a bitter taste in my mouth."

It was like a flood gate, she couldn't stop talking. She'd been so stuffed up and crying on Sam's shoulder just wasn't doing it anymore and she felt bad for making him keep so many secrets: this would be one weight off his shoulders.

"And then you and Sam come along, help deal with that fucking Kelpie and I'm stuck in the rain. Dive head first into the system and give up on everything. But you offer me a place to live, Sam helps me with college and you just. . .every time you'd go out, you'd come back with glitter and perfume on and I didn't even notice why I was getting so moody until Sam finally pried it out of me - I liked you. And fuck that pisses me off."

It felt so much better, like she could actually breathe. And he was listening patiently, which drove her nuts. Why was it happening? Why wouldn't he let her go? She wished he would. She'd just go run away and hide after this, pull the normal routine of stuffing this all down until she started to cry spontaneously over supper alone in her room.

"Ever kissed before," he murmured.

Huh?

"Uh. . .once," she scrunches up her face. "He tried to choke me with his tongue."

Another chuckle and he pulled her closer - if it was even possible. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he held her still with an arm with a steel hold around her back.

"Sit still, sweetheart," he ordered and she did. "If you want me to stop then I will, got it? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Too late," she managed, his lips inching closer to hers.

He shook his head slightly before he finally closed the gap between them. His lips were chapped and hers were soft with peppermint chapstick, the scent making his nose tingle; it aggravated the senses. With a small twist of the head, her lips parted enough for it to be more than a grade school smooch, a full on lip lock with her tongue dancing hesitantly behind her teeth.

He pulled back, keeping his lips close and tasting the breath that she released. "More," he questioned.

She nodded feverishly and he almost laughed, but didn't want to ruin her sudden confidence. He pressed his lips against hers again, running his tongue questioningly against her bottom lip. It took a moment, but she parted her lips, allowing him inside and the thought made him involuntarily groan; he didn't miss the way she tensed, but he really couldn't be sure because she was loose in his arms again.

His right hand moved up the back of her shirt, running firmly over pliable flesh, the strap of her bra, back down. She arched against him, a small moan mingling between their tongues and spurring him on. Her hands trailed down from his shoulders, running over his biceps to his forearms. His brow furrowed when she pulled away, watching her lick her lips with her eyes closed; she had to feel the hard lump forming in his jeans.

"I wanna move," she murmured.

Dean nodded mutely, eyes on as she wiggled off of his lap. He stood as she gained her footing, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the foot of the bed. Before she climbed back onto the bed, he grabbed her wrists, making her stop and look up at him.

"What," she croaked, nervousness shaking her voice.

"Ssh," he hummed, easing her down onto the edge of the bed. "Sit still, okay?"

She nodded, wary as he pulled his hands from her. His face almost took on a methodical and determined look as he undid his boots, got down onto his knees in front of her.

She doesn't say anything, just watches him as though he were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. He hooks his fingers into the sides of her shorts, pulling them down slowly. He arches an eyebrow as she snaps her eyes closed, thighs trembling as he dropped the shorts off to the side.

"Commando," she turned pink instead of red at his questioning - and surprised - tone.

"Underwear is uncomfortable," she mumbled.

He chuckles and settles in, pupils blown wide; she'd never had someone look at her like that before. "Completely understand."

She smiles a little, obviously embarrassed but her chest heaves when he kisses the inside of her thigh. He works up slowly, tongue rolling over the trembling expanse of muscle and flesh. He can smell her and she smells heavenly - all female and intoxicating.

She is breathing slowly, lids hooded as he gets closer and closer, soon feeling her heat. His tongue teases a tendon, enjoying the way she jerks at how close he is. First to delve in here? He's quite pleased with that fact. Her thighs tense and relax rhythmically the closer he gets and he finds amusement in the teasing. She doesn't seem to find it all that funny, now looking more desperate than shy; there's the familiar look of 'do it or I'll punch you', the normal Jeanne peeking through.

He winks at her, to which she seems unfazed, until he swoops in, buries his tongue in the top of her slit. A moan claws up from her throat as he rolls her clit in soft circles, his right hand easing in to tease the fuzz on her lips; his middle and index finger stroke up and down lightly, causing the scent of arousal to become stronger and stronger. He begins to ease a finger into her, nostrils flaring at how tight she is just around his finger.

His teeth nip here and there, paying extra attention to her clit; her hips jerk under his ministrations. He doesn't realize his eyes are closed until he has to open them at the feel of her fingers burying themselves into his hair. It jerks a strong rumble from his chest, his finger burying itself into her. Her fingers stroke back, petting him for a job well done if he could guess.

"Ah," she gasps, letting her head roll back, rock from side to side. "Dean," she whispers as he massaged the walls of her.

He can feel her heat impossibly more with the friction of his finger stroking in and out of her, dragging slow against the sensitive bundles of nerves. She clamps down on that finger, body aching for more and closing in on that precious peek; he has to see her cum.

"Wanna cum baby," he whispers, licking the fluid from his lips as he begins to quicken his fingers pace. "Want me to let you cum?"

"Yes," she gasps loudly, bucking her hips once, twice. "God, yes Dean! Please!"

Her plea is like the holy choir to his ears and he eases up her body, fingers - now two - pumping vigorously into her; his wrist aches in a dull way. He swipes his tongue up her throat - he's gotta get that shirt off - making his way to her ear as she moans and whimpers.

His lips ghost over her right ear, a smirk playing at his lips. "Then cum, sweetheart."

She gives out a strangled cry and falls back into the mattress as she cums. Her walls spasm around his fingers, his eyes watching her jerk and hump towards his hand. Her eyes are closed and she loses her breath, going limp under him; its a sight he thoroughly enjoys.

He waits until she looks uncomfortable to pull his fingers away, letting her watch him clean her slick from his fingers. She's entranced at this point, her thighs stuck on either side of him and threatening to trap him between them; he doesn't mind the thought.

He never thought he'd describe Jeanne as sexy, but for what she lacks in experience she makes up for in just image alone; he wonders how many times she practiced this - if at all - in her mind when confronted with the fantasy of being in his lap. How many more fantasy had she had?

"I see someone's happy," he chuckled, pressing his lips against hers.

She lets out a trembling chuckle and swallows, cheeks flushed and that familiar afterglow to her face. "I'd. . .rather not talk right now, okay?"

"Same," he'd rather not get mushy either, but he was still living with her so he couldn't be a simple lay. "Wanna continue from here?"

She hesitates, eyes flicker down between them. "I would feel bad saying no," she murmured. "All things considered, I mean."

"Well," he started. "There's always other ways to this. You can always. . ." How does he say it without being crass?

"I can do that," she spoke before he did. "I. . .I've done it before. . ." There's something about the look on her face that kind of pisses him off.

But she just stares up at him, waiting for him to speak. She's pure bliss right now, she's content and happy and running on the high that he's even touching her. Who cares if this is it, she just wants to have him for a moment.

"You sure," stop saying that, dumbass. She wouldn't have suggested it. Wait, I suggested it.

She chuckled, running a hand over his chest. "Yeah, I'm sure. You gave. . .you should receive," back to a shit eating grin.

He was glad she was getting more comfortable with this, he was starting to get tired of being all slow and questioning. It wasn't in his nature, not that he was rough or anything but he was painfully hard in his jeans and needed some relief fast. It'd been a bit of a dry spell and his own hand just wasn't doing it anymore.

"I uh. . ." She reduced her grin to a sheepish smile. "I guess now would be a good time?"

"It'd be a great time."

She chuckled as he pulled off of her, soon enjoying the sight of her between his own legs this time. She undid his belt, then the buckle of his jeans; he kicked them off and something about it made her chuckle, it could have been nervousness.

He almost frowned when she came face-to-face with his swollen member. She gave no indication of being impressed, fearful or anything else - she had a better poker face than most people he knew. Her eyes flickered up to him, must have seen the anticipation in his features and she leaned forward.

That first lick was a Hell of a thing.

It wasn't much but he groaned and let his head roll back, a muscle in his right arm quivering from the strain of holding him up. He bucked his hips once when she brushed her thumb under the head, her tongue lazy in its ascent from base to tip, her lips quickly engulfing him. It happened so fast, he was impressed, then he hit bottom and almost applauded her.

"Fuck, Jeanne," he gasped - actually gasped - and bucked his hips up again.

She chuckled around his cock, sending these delicious vibrations up and down his shaft, straight to his bones; his arms quivered again. She slowly pulled back up, lips applying a gentle ring of pressure that threatened to push him over the edge too soon. She set the pace, going deep but only able to go down completely once or twice more, then it was just the ring of pressure having him groaning.

"God damn," he managed after a moment, hand hovering over her head; don't scare her, Dean.

His downfall was her tongue teasing the sensitive underside of the head. He threw his head back, tendons straining under his skin as he poured into her throat. She coughed once but didn't pull away, the subtle brushes of her swallowing making him able to ride out a little bit longer. His eyes finally snapped open after his muscles began to feel weak and he looked down at her, watches her clean him up like a good kitty, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

"You're fucking beautiful."

She shook her head. "Don't think it qualifies after what I just did."

He jerked her up by her arms, almost slamming his lips into hers. She squeaked and struggled for a moment before relaxing against him, fingers flexing and raking across his shoulders.

He pulled back and they were both panting, lids hooded, closed in her case. "When do you think you'll be ready," he questioned in a low tone.

Her eyes fluttered open. "You won't have to wait long," he whined and she chuckled that time, easing back onto wobbly legs. "You and Sam have a hunt tomorrow, you forget?"

Yes, he fucking did.

"Right," he ran a hand down his face, leant back onto his right arm. He watched her tug on her shorts awkwardly, a small smile coming onto his face. "Why do you hurt yourself, Jeanne? You really are beautiful."

Cue tense muscles lacing over her shoulders. She looked over at him, her glow suddenly loss.

"I hate my body, Dean," she shrugged. "It. . .it doesn't help. . .but I feel better about it. Just ignore it, please?"

He raised his hands in surrender, watching her linger for another moment before she left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This WAS set at ten chapters, but has been widdled down to five. So much fluff and foreplay here, and I'm not ashamed nor will I apologize for it.
> 
> Now, yes the foreplay is a little dragged out and there's a little bit of whining, Dean asks a lot of question and is hesitant but that's for a reason: ITS HER FIRST TIME.
> 
> VIRGINS - DON'T GO BY FANFICS THAT SAY THE FIRST TIME IS ALWAYS GOING TO BE GREAT OR THAT ITS THREE STROKES AND THEN BAM IT FEELS GREAT.
> 
> That may be the case for some people but I can promise you, nine out of ten that your first time will suck. Sorry for the disappointment.

She's starting a load of clothes when her phone rings. "Fuck," she mutters as detergent splashes over the rim of the lid.

She tosses it down into the washer and cleans her hand in the flow, wrung it out on her shirt before she closes the washer. Jeanne stretches on her toes to pluck her phone up from the shelf above her head, breathing a small sigh of relief when she saw it was Sam calling her.

"I've been waiting two days for this call," she smiled into the phone, flicking off the light as she left the laundry room. "What's up," she shuts the door softly behind her.

"Hey baby girl," his voice makes her inhale sharply, pause in the center of the hallway; how can a man's voice sound so intoxicating?

"Dean," she questions. "Why are you on Sam's phone?"

"He has like twenty of them," a soft chuckle and Jeanne huffs indignantly, feeling much more confident over the phone. "This one was already out - look, we're headed back. It wasn't a Jub like we thought."

"What was it then," she turned on the kitchen light.

"Some kind of skinwalker, never seen one like that before but it doesn't matter. It died the same way."

Jeanne leaned against the counter. "You're both okay, right?"

He chuckled and she felt familiar butterflies tingling in her belly, spreading out through her limbs. "Yeah, few scrapes and bruises but otherwise we're in perfect condition."

She sighed in relief and opened up the refrigerator. "Good, good," she paused. "I'll leave you both leftovers in the oven. I'll probably be asleep when you get here."

"Alright sweetheart," God, she loves it when he calls her that. "Keep your door open."

Jeanne pauses, slightly taken aback, as she turns on the stove. "Huh?"

Too late for an answer, because he's hung up and its just her in the silence of the kitchen. She pulls the phone from her ear and stares skeptically at the screen, eyebrow arched before she just shakes her head and sticks the phone in her bra. She hadn't really planned on cooking, but the previous trip to the store had, had her picking up several things she liked to eat that required cooking; some of these things were never on the shelf by the time she got too them. The boys wouldn't mind food already made for them and she was sure Sam was tired of eating sandwiches because neither he or Dean felt like cooking most nights.

"I really need to shower," Jeanne mumbled to herself, lips quirked in the corner. "Eh, later."

She felt kind of light headed, maybe it was still the butterflies squirming around inside of her. She should have let Dean have her before he left, then she wouldn't be so antsy. But she hadn't been ready, she had several things to do before she would even trust her scarred and chunky body to look half decent for him. He deserved more than some pale skin and leg stubble; she'd been killing herself since he left exercising what she could. She bet she looked pretty comical doing all that she had, that included nearly using an entire can of shaving cream on most of her body; she'd actually gotten a few laughs out of herself a couple of times.

But it had to be done.

She was mildly ashamed for him to have seen her in the state she was in before he left...she wanted to be as close to perfect as she could get. Her mother would smack the bajeezus out of her if she had witnessed all Jeanne was doing for one man. She'd taught Jeanne when she was young to never try to impress a man and Jeanne had followed that advice for the few men that had showed any interest.

And then Dean Winchester had come along.

Now she was going against everything her momma had taught her and she honestly didn't feel guilty, not one bit. Momma said she used to go a little too far when she liked something, people in particular. But, Dean wasn't like Brandon or Dakota, he was a man and not a boy. He had to be different, he just had to.

 

~~~

 

Sleep has never came easy to an insomniac like Jeanne.

Nightmares are usually a part of the package keeping her awake, but the thought of the boys coming home helps lure her to sleep a little easier than usual. The sweet scent of coconut oil in her hair - conditioner made her scalp itch and scratching was not sexy - was also vaguely calming, as was the violet lava lamp she had stared at; thank you, Sammy. All of these little things had seemed to fix the nightmare problem as well tonight, because she dreamed of better things - again, only vaguely. The visions weren't very clear and she seemed to drift from one to another within seconds, but they all had the same lullaby playing in them and it was a soothing coo of her mothers voice that nearly had her in tears when she woke up.

A flow soon staunched by a pair of mossy green eyes staring at her.

She would have screamed had she not been so used to those eyes, sought them for comfort on a regular basis. They softened at the sight of shiny eyes and his thumb brushes over her cheek, coming away with one stray tear.

"Did I scare you that much," there was a slight teasing tone to his deep whisper.

She shook her head, moving to sit up but he easily pressed her back down. "Wh-What time is it," she covered her mouth as she yawned.

"Some time past midnight," he murmured. "Just got in."

Jeanne's breath hitches in the back of her throat when she feels that subtle brush of fingers over the thin fabric of her night shorts. "Dean," she whispered, hesitancy plain on her face.

"Mmmm," he hummed, cocking his head as his middle finger continued to gently stroke up and down, feeling the puffy outline of her slit. "You're on fire," he murmured.

Jeanne chewed on her bottom lip, tugging back on it before she pressed up against him. She was still half asleep, so the kiss was a little sloppy, but it didn't seem to matter to Dean. He breathed out heavily as she reached a hand up, caressing the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers drug softly over his jaw, over the stubble that was a regular on him; how many times had she fantasized about doing just this? If he knew some of the things she had thought of him doing to her...Hell, she was concerned about half the things she had dreamt up.

They parted lips and Dean's tongue briefly followed before he licked his own lips; she felt an instant pulse of juices stirring in her. She let her hand linger against the side of his face, staring up at him and just enjoying the sight, enjoying the surge of pleasure from his fingers playing against her. When he touched her bare slit by moving her short aside, her breath came out as a squeak and she shuttered, hesitant to relax her thighs around his hand.

"Want me tp stop," why does he keep asking her that?

Jeanne smiles a little, finding him suddenly very adorkable. "I just," she pauses, takes a breath. "First time and all...I'm just used to saying no to anyone touching me...down there and....I need to stop talking before I ramble."

He chuckled, eyes watching her eyes widen slightly and chest quiver with breath as his fingers delve between her nether-lips, brushing over her hole and dragging up. She got an almost uncomfortable look on her face but gasped and closed her eyes, almost like she thought that it would hide her.

"Well," Dean started, watching her as she watched him, slowly rolling his tongue around the sweet/salty/numbing stickiness around his fingers. "We go slow...first times not fun at all, for the girl anyway - no matter what your little pervy fan fiction shit says about it. And yes, I read one. You really need to learn to clear your browser history."

Spontaneous combustion was sounding like a very real possibility at the moment. She had forgotten! No more computer, she was going to stick strictly to her phone from now on.

"It doesn't get better," he murmured lowly, his hand easing against her breasts through her shirt. "Stroke after stroke..." She arched as he stroked a hard nipple that strained. "I'm gonna make you cum...but its not gonna be a picnic," he leaned down, pressing his lips to the sensitive slope of her throat. "But I'm gonna eat you out enough so you're not disappointed."

Dean Winchester talking dirty to her checked off her bucket list.

"Dean," she crooned, running her fingers through his hair as he took a hard nipple into his mouth, the contrast amazing between his writhing tongue and the rough fabric of the shirt. "D-Dean please," she couldn't even finish her sentence.

"What do you want baby," his breath ghosted over the wet spot on her t-shirt and she shivered.

"I..." She swallowed. "I want you..." Why was this so hard to say?

Oh right, it was her most embarrassing fantasy that he couldn't possibly follow through with. He would probably laugh himself into a fit.

"I know that isn't it," his teeth grazed a hidden bud, hand cupping her mound and kneading it softly. "Come on...I believe in you..."

She swallowed nervously. "Worship me," she whispered, feeling like it was a bit too grand to use those words; dramatic.

His eyes shot up to her, looking primal and dangerous as her chest heaving inches from his face. His hand had stilled against her and she almost cried, but clamped both insides of her cheeks between her teeth to prevent anything other than her pleading eyes from speaking. To be worshipped by Dean would be perfect, she could die happy, but her heart was gonna beat itself to death before she even got an answer out of him. Her swaying confidence made no exceptions with this, she wasn't take charge in the bedroom - obviously.

"Seriously," he breathed huskily, but he didn't sound sarcastic, he sounded so...the best way to describe it was hungry.

"Uh...yes?"

And then his lips were bruising hers, his body heat rivaling her own as she moaned into his mouth, tongue clashing against his and tasting where he must have fallen asleep in the car; it was an odd taste, one she tasted on herself right now but it somehow pleases her.

He was gentle quickly, but she could feel his heart racing as fast as hers when she pressed a hand against his chest. She sighed as she rocked her head to the right, completely content with letting him suckle in random spots, linger in others. He was going slower than before, he wasn't as persistent with his fingers. His right hand was holding him up while the left brushed over her breast, slowly massaging the sensitive mound. She sighed again and then moaned, her hands gripping what she could greedily; she had to be dreaming, but her dreams had never been this good.

She almost whined when he pulled back, squirming beneath his gaze as he sat back on his knees. His eyes ran over her, hands working the buttons of his flannel; she held her breath in anticipation. Sure, she'd seen Dean shirtless before - a lot, obviously since she was living with them - but she really paid attention to him instead of trying to hide. He wasn't a magnificent sex god, Dean Winchester was an average man. Sure, there were maybe a few extra muscles here and there, but she expected nothing less from someone who fought monsters on a daily basis. But in general, he was physically no more perfect than she was.

Of course, to her, he was perfection. He was every desire she had ever felt all wrapped into one with an intense gaze that begged for sleep and release, something she had wanted to give him for months now.

"Sit up," he murmured and she knew what he wanted to do.

"Don't linger," she murmured and he gave her a confused look as she sat up. "I...I have a lot of marks on me and can you just...ignore them?"

"I have a confession," he murmured suddenly, forcing her stomach down to her feet. "The other day...when Sam and I were outside your door, I was spying on you."

"Dean," she was ashamed and embarrassed, kind of mad.

He shook his head. "I saw it all, Jeanne," she was visibly darker from her blush. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lingered but I saw you and the stretch marks, the dimples in your thighs and Jeanne, I don't care about them. I really don't."

She still stared at him skeptically, feeling her nose twitch with tears. She wanted to be really mad at him, she wanted to scream at him at how he shouldn't have spied on her, that it was wrong, but she didn't do any of what she wanted to. He'd already seen the most intimate part of her, why should she be mad now?

"I'm gonna be mad about that later," she murmured. "But it's a little late for scolding's."

"I really am sorry," he craned downwards to kiss her forehead, which reignited the flames in her core.

She shook her head and smiled at him, still shaky in her gripping of the hem of her shirt. She hadn't worn a bra - rare - to sleep because she had been so exhausted from her shower, and now she was thankful for it; he licked his lips subconsciously as her breasts slightly swayed with her movements.

"God damn," he grunted, pushing her back gently into the sheets and draping himself over her. "Fuck, Jeanne," he kissed her again, but only briefly.

She closed her eyes slowly and arched against him as he stroked her clit heavily with the pad of his thumb, his lips firm and insistent on leaving marks on her breasts; she didn't mind being marked. A hum started from the back of her throat as she slowly rocked against his hand, lips parted as she gave small, pleasures gasps when he finally - finally - slipped a finger into her. It was a little uncomfortable, considering this was the first time anyone - including herself - had stuck anything inside, but with how tight her nerves were, it made her shudder in pure pleasure.

"Dean," she barely heard herself as he started a quick pace already, friction driving her hips to jerk and twist on impact. "Oh! D - Dean I'm -"

Before she could get the sentence out, his eyes locked with hers and she started cumming. Her fingers tightened on what they could and she arched her chest, an airy moan coming from her lips. He hungrily claimed them, groaning when her head found his bulge in his jeans and gave a gentle squeeze; he ground into her palm and she gasped into his lips.

"Keep that up and I won't last long," he murmured against her.

"I just..."

He chuckled and pulled her hand away, undoing his jeans with a flick of the wrist. "Calm down, I'm not getting onto you."

She nodded weakly, nostrils flaring as he slowly kissed down the space between her breasts. His tongue felt so strange against her skin, but she wasn't protesting the lower he got, her hips bucking upwards as his breath washed over her. She was wet and the contrast was cold, but his tongue was warm on that first stroke. She moaned, fingers wrapping up in the bed sheets at the second stroke. She pushed herself against him, her breath hitching as his tongue buried into her.

It was amazing, the soft underside of his tongue massaging her clit. Her fingers buried in his hair - she didn't think she could ever get over doing that - combing through and applying pressure where he nipped at sensitive folds, lapped like a man in the desert. She arched, his right hand bracing her hip down when she tried to thrust up against him; she tried to slacken her grip in his hair, but he didn't seem to mind when she tugged. His head swiveled slightly, stubble chaffing her swollen labia but Jeanne continued to pet and mewl.

When the jolt of two fingers scissoring inside of her, Jeanne gasped and rolled her hips despite his strong hand keeping her down. Her eyes popped and she bit her lip, tasting copper when he hooked a finger up against a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. No one had ever touched her like this, but she doubted there was anyone else to compare to Dean Winchester. He groaned when her nails applied pressure to his scalp and the friction from his fingers and tongue were becoming too much.

His teeth grazing over her clit set her off.

She moaned and called his name, but only softly, rocking against his mouth and shuddering. He did not relent and she came a second time, her pleas for him not to stop sounding more like she was crying. It was a sensory overload with with tongue stroking and following her clit as she tried to wiggled away, his fingers pounding in a furious manner...

On the third orgasm, she think she did cry but it had to be her imagination because he said nothing. His lips tasted like her, a strange twang she couldn't place but she couldn't help but lick the sticky substance away before kissing him again. She massaged her fingers against his scalp, apologizing for her grip.

"No," he murmured. "You do what you want..." His voice was impossibly husky, causing her to heat again.

She had to bite her lip to suppress the giggle that threatened her lips as he wobbled on the bed, kicking off his jeans; she felt a twinge in her pussy at the sight of his swollen member, an ache. Her eyes flickered up to his in the dim lighting of her room, anticipation making her shaky.

And he smiles.

It's lopsided and makes her breath stop in her chest, makes every butterfly in her explode and she's close to tears when he pulls her into another kiss, easy and slow, methodical. He rubs himself against her, teasing her with his head stroking up and down, pressing into her by an inch.

She grunts and her face twists, he pulls away and has an almost sympathetic look on his face. "Like a band aid," he says it firmly.

She nods, breathing out and willing the rest of her to slacken; the more tense she is, the more it would hurt, right? He already said this first time wouldn't be exactly pleasant. She trusted him.

That doesn't really do much for her when he takes her in one sweep, a squeak and shudder coming from her lips at the intrusion. Her muscles scream and pulse, clench at him, trying to force him out and it's kind of obvious he doesn't mind so much. She grunts again and digs the fingers of her right hand against his shoulder, making another grunt when she mistakenly clenches around him.

"Ow," she snaps.

His chest rocks with a chuckle and he kisses her lower lip. "Told ya," he pulls out slightly and she finds some relief. "Gets better the second time, I promise."

She nodded without speaking, eyes closing as she rolled her hips against his. He took the cue and pulled out until just the tip of him remained, which had her muscles trying to revert. He pushed back in steadily and she inhaled, a small moan coming from her lips. His chest rumbled as she clenched around his cock, the friction making her as hot as a furnace. It took every ounce of him to not just pound into her, but he didn't want to scare her or hurt her.

First time always sucked.

No two strokes and then it's bliss.

Two virgins - and now Jeanne - under his belt and they complained each time. Until the second try. Then it was wanton fucking and urges he couldn't keep up with.

His lips brushed into her ear, listening to the very slight moan behind her breath; pain. "Touch your clit," he grunted, nibbling on her earlobe.

Jeanne nodded mutely, then whimpered as he sucked on her jugular, the pulse beneath it writhing under his tongue. Her fingers brushed over her clit and she bucked against Dean, trying to gain more friction against it. She groaned with the roll of her hips, his thrusts strengthening; he reached back, pulling her right thigh up against his hip and sliding in just an inch more. Jeanne threw her head back, rubbing slow circles around her clit. Her skin was on fire where he touched, the back of her neck lit almost uncomfortably. She moaned and pulled her free hand to tangle in his hair as he found her denied nipple, suckling and rolling it between his teeth. She bucked her hips rolled against his again, head rocking to the right and lips whining at all the feelings assaulting her.

"Dean," she breathed."I think I'm gonna cum," she clenched at him, swearing she could feel every bump and grind along the way.

He pulled from her breast, the cold air hitting her skin and making her shiver despite the temperature of her skin. "I can cum in you or pull out," he murmured. "Your choice."

"Don't pull out," she sputtered. "Oh God don't," she had a feeling it wouldn't be the same kind of feeling if he did.

He didn't respond and she didn't really care if he did, because she was cumming. She moaned loudly, crying out his name and clinging to him like she needed to be anchored down. Slight shocks of pain hit her again at the force she came down around him, but it was more a discomfort than anything. He groaned and buried his face against her throat, licking at the sweat and stilling his hips hard against her.

The room was soon filled with only sound of them panting and the wet sound of Jeanne licking her lips. She didn't want to look him in the eye when he tried to, embarrassment coming back to her easily. When she did look up at him, an involuntary grin fought on her lips and he chuckled, both of them jumping when there was a quick rasp at the door.

"Are you two done? I was trying to sleep."

She barked out a laugh and then bit her lip as Dean chuckled for her. She winced as he pulled out of her, easing her thighs together with a sore pulse in her right leg.

"Go to bed, Sammy," Dean sighed, lying beside Jeanne and throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Goodnight, Sam," Jeanne croaked.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam grumbled from the other side of the door.

Jeanne sighed, tugging up the covers to her chest, hiding beneath them. "It'll be better next time, like you said?"

He snorted and looked over at her while she smiled at the ceiling. "I'm almost offended by that, ya know?"

She shook her head and finally looked over at him, making him uncomfortable with the look she was giving him. "You know I don't mean it like that."

He chuckled. "I know and yeah, it does," he paused. "You know, you gotta go get something to take care of any unwanted pregnancies around here."

"Who says I don't want to get pregnant," instant fear and horror came over his face and she laughed, shaking her head. "I'm kidding - calm down."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the dealio: If anyone wants this expanded past the originally set length of chapters, I will do that. Otherwise this is where Shelter ends. I left the end of it open ended just in case.

He's never watched a girl sleep, had plenty watch him though and it has to be one of the creepiest things ever but he can't help but watch Jeanne when she sleeps.

She had pulled herself closer to him in sleep and she was mumbling softly, face pinching every now and again. She had made sure to wrap the blankets as tight around her as possible but they were easy to pull away when she began to stir; not before, he didn't want to press the creep meter too high but boundaries were a bit blurry 75% of the time for him.

"Dean," she murmured, rubbing at her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Wish I would have known all along," he murmured against the skin of her throat, amused at the tiny gasps coming from her mouth; they were barely audible. "Wish I would have known how good you felt..." Her breathing became shallow as he eased down at a turtles pace between her breasts.

"Dean," she sounded both scared and confused, but she wasn't stopping him.

He prodded at the skin of her stomach, thumb brushing over the stretch marks and the healing cuts she had given herself. They scarred her thighs, some fresh and some old, the fresh ones angry and red. He pressed his lips against them and she wiggled, getting ready to twist her body away but he stopped her by grabbing her hips.

He licked and nipped at her thighs, relishing the small gasps and whimpers she gave the closer he got to her aching sex. He could smell it, the feminine pull of her that stirred his cock against the sheets. He'd never wanted to go down on a girl so badly before, which made him feel strange.

She cried out when his mouth found her core, tongue darting out and silencing her insecurities. She whimpered and moaned, right hand coming down to tangle in his hair, keep him in place though he had no intentions of going anywhere but down on her. His hands moved, one at the small of her back, the other on her ass, keeping her from getting away from his mouth.

"Dean!" She gasped, her right knee cocking to stroke against his side.

"Keep saying my name baby," she trembled at his words, vibrations making the heat in her clit nearly unbearable.

He pulled the hand from the small of her back, allowing her slightly more wiggle room, only to have her go completely still as he pressed his thumb against her already dripping entrance. She bucked her hips and then rolled them as he teases with the pressure before letting out the huskiest moan he had ever heard before, her muscles clenching in appreciation around the digit that embedded itself into her. He chuckled when she whimpered again, peering up to see her already tilting over the edge.

Jeanne arched as she came, throwing her head back into the pillows and feeling mildly guilty when she squeezed him with her thighs. He didn't seem bothered though, continued to lavish her with his tongue, stroke her through her orgasm. She ran her hands through his hair, a pet for a job well done when she became too tender to touch. He climbed back up her body, nestled between her thighs while she smiled sleepily up at him; he couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're beautiful, Jeanne," he murmured, kissing her softly.

He didn't realize how big of an effect that had on her.

She swallowed and pressed her lips up against his, right hand still tangled in his hair, left hand grabbing at his shoulder. Jeanne pulled back after a moment, looking up at him with a slightly curious look to her face, like she wasn't half asleep, uncharacteristically horny and wasn't completely embarrassed for no obvious reason.

"Can we," she paused, wiggling her hips around him experimentally; a dull ache strained in her thighs. "Can we try again?"

He cocked his head. "If you want," he shrugged and ran his hand gently back and forth across her thigh. "Doesn't hurt does it?"

Jeanne shook her head softly. "Mmm Mmm, just a little sore. But I really want to."

He chuckled and smoothly stroked his hips forward, watching her eyes snap close when his throbbing head brushed over her folds. "Well, I have no objections," he angled his head down, inhaling just under her ear and for some reason that had her already moaning. "As you wish."

A tremor rocked her frame and she opened her eyes, feeling slightly...she supposed she could say confident? Whatever praise or something close to that Dean gave her had always struck a cord, which was why she was so confused it took her so long to realize she had feelings for him. Everything would stick with her, boost her confidence in body and mind for a short time. But him saying that, 'as you wish', made something roll in her belly. It was close to butterflies, but she felt a surge of dominance she rarely felt thump through her. But it was gone as quick as it came, mostly because of his probing member against her sex.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she had to arch when he began to sink into her, a small moan of pain and encouragement coming between her lips. It was uncomfortable but he went slow, let her adjust and by the time he was fully embedded in her, Jeanne wanted more. He grunted as she clenched her walls around him, the feeling bliss for both of them. Friction came as he picked up a rhythm, pulling small grunts, groans and other things from her lips.

She startled when his left hand abruptly slapped down into the sheets near her head, the fingers clenching at the fabric as he mumbled "Fuck," under his breath.

Jeanne shivered and wrapped her arms around him, hands fluttering for a moment before she settled in his hair again. She tugged at the roots, pulling his lips to hers and demanding his attention, which he gladly gave and she wasn't even bothered when his teeth knocked into hers. She squeaked into his mouth when his right hand flattened against her back and he rocked them bother over, startling her when she ended up on top of him. She wiggled and pulled back, hair pooling on his chest as she looked at him, actually afraid; the room was still, she couldn't even make out his breathing, just her rapid heart beat.

"Dean please," her voice was small.

He shook his head, a tender, lazy smile on his face as his fingers flexed around her hips. "Come on," he jerked his chin at her. "Ride me this time."

She would have rather kept her reaction to the words a secret, but the way she quivered around his cock gave him all the permission he needed. She couldn't really say no now so, with much hesitation, Jeanne sat up on top of him, her hands braced against his chest. His stare was almost blank, that small smile even smaller but still there as his eyes flickered, lingered. She was flushed and embarrassed, scared even though he's already seen all of her but the intimacy of not being able to hide herself beneath him was gone. Were it not for the languid stroke of his thumb on her hip, she would have already begged him to reverse.

He didn't say anything this time, just pulled her hips against him, silently adjusting her until she got the hang of her rhythm he wanted. Her eyes fluttered closed and Jeanne let her head roll on her shoulders as she stretched her hand across his chest, having to lean over him to kiss him again. He pushed up to meet her, his hips now frantic against hers; he was close. And so was she, her hips became more insistent against his, erratic like her hands that cupped his face, stroked through his hair, across the stubble on his jaw line. He groaned into her mouth and Jeanne pulled back, her thighs burning as she came, needy for that wonderful feeling he managed to create inside of her.

There was sweat on his brow and Jeanne twitched as she hesitantly laid herself against his chest, closing her eyes with a content smile to her lips. She listened to his heart hammering in his chest, felt butterflies all over again at the sound. His hands stroked up her spine and over her hips, nearly lulling her back to sleep, but she felt the need to speak.

"How bout we just ferget the first time," she murmured sleepily. "And count that as the first..."

"Whatever you say," he chuckled, his lips pressing into her hair.

~~~

She wakes up crying, or at least her face is covered in tears, the sheets cold beneath her cheek. Jeanne blinks a couple of times, licking her lips as she pushes herself up with her arms. Her hair sticks to her cheeks and Jeanne groans at the discomfort in her hips, thighs. The bed is cold and Dean is nowhere to be seen, she worries that he and Sam got called out or that she'll have to do a mild walk of shame out of her bedroom. Alone.

She jerks when she hears the sound of the shower creaking off and almost smiles when she realizes he's just in the shower. Jeanne wipes frantically at her cheeks with the edge of her sheet, hoping her eyes aren't too red. Bad dream, a bad dream despite the beautiful way she fell asleep and she hates her mother for daring to invade her dreams. Especially with Dean beneath her, inside of her...

"Well good morning."

Jeanne yelps and covers her chest ridiculously, eyeing him with wet hair and jeans sagging on his hips. He runs the towel over his arms, through his hair again and tosses the towel back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Jeanne runs a hand back through her hair, pushing it back, from her face.

"What time is it," she croaked and cleared her throat.

Dean sat beside her on the bed, reaching out rather abruptly to cup the side of her face. Jeanne jerked back but didn't go so far as to really pull back, feeling slightly ashamed when he brushed away a tear from her cheek. Jeanne didn't cry. These past few days had just really torn her up. Jeanne had always prided herself on repressing her emotions, her feelings, she had to so her judgement wouldn't be clouded. She couldn't let those feelings get in the way, the ones that made her cry in her sleep. Strong. Jeanne had to be...strong

"Its nothing," is her immediate response.

"Don't just cry for nothing," he pulls his arm back. "Nightmare," Jeanne nodded, tugging the blanket around her. "Bout what?"

"Nothing," her tone was clipped and firm. "Please don't worry about it."

"Oh I will," she sighed. "But you don't wanna talk about it, you don't have to," he cocked his head, pausing. "You hungry?"

Jeanne blinked a couple of times. "Uh...I guess so."

He smiled a little. "Sam cooked," he stood, stretching his arms back over his head. "I'll bring you somethin', you take a shower."

Jeanne gave him a slightly bewildered look as he grabbed his infamous black shirt from the foot of the bed. She wiggled to edge, startled once again by his lips abruptly connecting with hers, his right leg pressing between her thighs. His fingers danced along her jaw before he pulled back, leaving her tingling while he strolled to the door. When it clicked shut, she raked another hand through her hair, her eyes settling on the floor length mirror that really seemed to hate her lately. Her lips twitched and quirked as she dropped the sheet, eyes critical on the hickeys on her neck, collar bone, faint bruises on her hips. Her cuts were irritated from his prodding but they didn't really hurt, just throbbed with an annoying little prick of pain.

She felt all kinds of sticky, from sweat and what she presumed was cum. When Jeanne stood, her hips popped and that confused her a little, but she just shut the bathroom door behind her. After a thorough scrubbing and a relaxing time just soaking in the water, Jeanne wrapped a towel around herself and stared into the mirror, tying her hair back without the sense to brush it. She dressed in black shorts and a red t shirt, sitting cross legged on the bed while she scrolled through her phone. She wished there was someone to talk to, a friend or a sister. But her sister had her own life, her happy family of five children and a good husband she never met. No friends, no family, Jeanne only had herself to cheer for that she had actually gotten to sleep with Dean Winchester, the man of her dreams.

"Of course you're on your phone," Jeanne actually snorted and looked up, smiling at Dean as he shut the door behind him.

"Well, figured I'd read since you weren't back yet," Jeanne set her phone to the side and took the plate from Dean. "You didn't have to bring me food...you know it upsets my stomach sometimes."

Despite her words, Jeanne would never turn down anything Sam made and she ate beside Dean, who seemed to be just as content as can be.

~~~

She's pacing in the archives, worrying the thumbnail on her right hand, waiting impatiently for the boys to get in. They'd been gone for three weeks and she'd been fine with that - up until this final week.

When Sam had called and said they would be home tonight, she had sputtered and told him to hurry, but don't worry Dean. She knew he had understood the panicked tone, the need to talk to someone where she had been alone sitting on a desperate secret. But she had never sounded so panicked and had cringed at her own voice over the phone. She didn't know what to do and had tried so hard to refrain from calling Sam and asking when they'd be home; she was relieved when he called, if not a tad more jumpy. She could have just texted him, but didn't want Dean to accidently read them and also didn't need to distract the younger Winchester while they were working.

Jeanne jumped and looked up when she heard the tell-tale creak of the front door, heard Dean complaining about how damn glad he was to be home. Relief flooded Jeanne for the second time that night at the sound of him, then the sight of him and the smile he gave her when he noticed her waiting for them.

"Hey sweetheart," he smelt like dirt and faintly of blood; it was streaked up his jaw but she let him embrace her still, knowing she was too stiff in his arms. "Hey, everything alright," he gave her a concerned look, slowly lowering his duffel from his shoulder.

Jeanne hesitated, looking over at Sam, who had an idea of what was going on. She had pleaded for him to hurry anyway, she had already given away that there was something big happening and Dean obviously couldn't know; not yet anyway.

"Its nothing," Jeanne said adamantly, giving him a small smile; he only seemed half convinced. "I uh...I made supper," she paused. "And there's pie in the oven, in case you're so inclined."

He chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to Jeanne's forehead, making her blush as he swept past her. "I'll be that way then," he looked over his shoulder. "And waiting on you," the wink he gave her had Jeanne's legs quivering.

When he was gone, out of sight at least, Jeanne lurched for Sam's hand and he sputtered as she began to drag him behind her. Dragging someone like Sam Winchester was not an easy task, even if he was making it easy, but Jeanne managed with the height differences and slammed her bedroom door behind them. Sam swallowed like he was in trouble, taking in the disheveled appearance of her room and then grew truly concerned. It looked like the Tasmanian devil had thrown a fit in here, clothes tossed and cd cases shattered on the floor; the only things left in peace were her PlayStation and her small tv.

"Jeanne," Sam questioned, stepping to the side so she could pace past him, fingers buried in her hair. "Jeanne, what the Hell is wrong? You sounded like you were having a panic attack over the phone."

"Well I was," she inhaled sharply between her teeth, realizing she was crying again and she desperately was trying to staunch the flow. "Th-The ladies at the clinic had dealt with it before...said a lot of girls have panic attack when the time comes but -"

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam waved his hands and Jeanne gave a small hiccup, looking up at Sam from under her brow; she looked like a kid begging not to be punished. "Clinic? Panic attack? Jeanne - what the Hell happened while we were gone?"

Jeanne took in a gulp of air, trying to keep herself calm and slowly failing. "I'm pregnant, Sam," she squeaked out and his eyes bugged. "I-I don't understand because Dean took me to the pharmacy and I got the pill but - the ladies said the pill doesn't work one hundred percent of the time and I was that gray area -"

"Jeanne," Sam barked and she jumped, looking up at him with those wide, desperate eyes. "Did you just tell me you're pregnant," she nodded fiercely, raking her nails through her hair. "With Dean's kid?"

"No with Santa's kid," she snapped and he sighed, reaching out to pull her hands from her head before she drew blood. "Sam,what do I do?! I-I made that stupid ass remark after we had sex and I just - what if he thinks I wanted this? I didn't want to get pregnant, not yet, I have too much stuff to do and I don't want Dean to -"

"Jeanne, fucking breathe," she tried, she really did but then she hiccuped and more tears pricked at her eyes. "Jeanne, just calm down. I don't really think this secret is something I can keep from my brother and I don't think you should."

Jeanne widened her eyes. "Are you kidding me? Have you listened to anything I just said?"

"He's gonna want to know, Jeanne. You gotta tell him, talk to him - just do it. This is something you both need to work at together. I can't help you here."

She stared up at him in shock. Sam usually kept all of her secrets, but this time he was throwing her to the wolves, to Dean. His advice was to just talk to Dean? The one who had insisted on no unplanned pregnancies in the bunker, the one that had been up at the ass crack of dawn to take her down before the pharmacy opened...how could she go to him and tell him it hadn't took? It wasn't her fault, she knew that, but she had begged him not to pull out.

Would he think she wanted to get pregnant? Her mind had been rolling over the insinuation and the fear for days now, ever since she left the clinic -

"I tried to get rid of it," Jeanne whispered as she sank down to the edge of her bed, hands playing in her lap. "I scheduled it...went there...but I panicked on the table and ran," she shook her head and looked up at Sam. "I tried to get rid of it and I couldn't."

"Its not an it, Jeanne," Sam sighed and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Its a baby. Do you want to keep it?"

Jeanne shook her head and wiped at her tears. "I don't know," she shuddered with a silent sob. "I-I don't know what to do, I'm so scared. I've been trying to keep it together, think it through rationally but...well, you see what I did to my room."

Sam nodded slowly. "Talk to Dean," she gave him a panicked look. "If you don't go to him, I will send him to you. I'll tie you both up in the dungeon if I have to, got it?"

Jeanne sighed, rubbing her cheek slowly, trying to push the tears into her skin before she nodded. "Okay...okay, I'll talk to him. But if anything goes wrong - I'm not talking to you for a long time."

Sam chuckled and rubbed her arm roughly, which made her grunt. "Shut up, everything will go fine, okay? Don't stress so much."

Jeanne shook her head yet again and took in a deep breath, standing from her spot on the end of the bed. She looked at Sam - she didn't even have to look down, he was at perfect eye level even sitting down - and tried to smile, but gave up in favor of leaving the room. She could hear Dean playing Black Sabbath in the kitchen, most likely from Sam's computer and almost felt bad for interrupting him and the mood he was in. He never played music in the bunker, unless they were celebrating or something like that.

Celebration over, she supposed.

When she stepped into the kitchen, he was sitting on the counter, bobbing his head slightly as he chewed idly on the plate she had left him on the stove. He didn't hear her enter or was letting her take her sweet time getting to him, something she took full advantage of. She could hear her heartbeat threatening to break through her rib cage even over the blare of a guitar solo.

"Sweetheart," Jeanne jumped when the music suddenly cut off and looked up at Dean, who had his head craned back and to the side, looking at her expectantly. "Why the turtles pace," he patted the counter beside him and his ring clinked in the tiles. "Hop up here with me."

Jeanne grumbled a little as she shuffled forward. "I'm not hopping up on anything," she murmured and he chuckled, setting his plate to the side when she made it on front of him. "Dean I -"

She was cut off by him reaching out, forcibly pulling her between his thighs and to his lips. She struggled a little and then sighed inwardly, relaxing against him and feeling the familiar tingles when he let her just melt in his arms. His kiss was hungry and insistent, tasting distinctly of blood even though she was sure a myriad of things had passed through the today. She didn't care, she had wanted nothing more than to be smothered in him since he left - but now wasn't the time.

With much reluctance, Jeanne pressed a firm hand against his chest and Dean pulled back with a grunt, small pants heating the room in her ears. Jeanne looked up at him from under her bangs and his eyes went serious at the distressed look on her face.

"Somethin' happen while we were gone," he rumbled, keeping her close even though she wanted to squirrel away. "Babe -"

"Dean please," her voice shook and he surprisingly clammed up. "I-I need to talk to you about something important so please...hear me out first."

"Uh," he looked squirrely, ready to bolt. "Sure...okay, talk then."

Jeanne swallowed thickly, shaking her head oh-so softly. "I just want you to know I didn't plan this and that I know its my fault and I understand if you hate me but I tried to get rid of it, I swear. I just - I chickened out and I'm so sorry."

"Jeanne," she winced and looked up at him; when did she start trying to burn a hole into his chest with her eyes? "I have no idea what you're talking about, can you go a little slower?"

She inhaled sharply. "Dean - I'm pregnant."

Didn't he look like his whole world had flipped. "Excuse me?"

Jeanne was on the verge of tears again. "Dean - I went to the Planned Parenthood thing and all that and when I got on that table," she shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. "My God, it was all just so cold and sterile - I panicked. I ran all the way back to the bunker in a damn hospital gown."

He didn't say anything, so of course Jeanne continued to ramble on. She described the statistic described to her, about birth control and Plan B defects and all that, how she just had the unfortunate luck of being in the gray area. Jeanne didn't want to hear all of that, she didn't even want to be there but the day she missed her period, she was concerned. Her period came like perfect clock work, always there when she needed it and then it just didn't come. She'd tried everything else to prove to herself she wasn't pregnant but her paranoid mind had won out with a couple of store-bought sticks and then she went to the hospital for a test and they told her the truth, what those sticks had preached all morning: Pregnant.

"You're pregnant," Dean finally whispered, breaking her insane rambling and startling Jeanne.

She raked a and back through her hair. "I-I'm so sorry. It wasn't on purpose it just happened -"

"Shut up already," and she did under that commanding tone. "Jesus," Dean ran a hand down over his face. "You're serious - this isn't some kind of bad prank because I swear -"

"No Dean," she whispered. "I still have the damn tests to prove it," she hiccuped. "I'm sorry...I understand if you're mad and everything. I don't expect anything from you..."

"Didn't I say shut up," she did again. "Jeanne...I'm not mad, unprepared maybe but not mad. I can't really say I regret it because well, you were tight as fuck and I had no plans of pulling out even if I asked but I guess a condom would have worked just as well..." She couldn't help the heat that darkened her cheeks. "So you panicked?"

Jeanne nodded. "I just...I couldn't. I got there and got all ready and then I started crying and ran..." She trembled once, on the cusp of tears. "I didn't want you to hate me, Dean."

He gave her a bewildered look, leaning slightly forward. "Why the Hell would you think I would hate you, Jeanne?"

She hesitated. "Because of that stupid shit I said after we had sex...I didn't want you to think I planned this or something."

He didn't hug her like she wanted, but he did grab her by the hip and pull her closer, shaking his head. "That's stupid. I could never be mad and I would never think you would plan some creepy pregnancy thing. Shit happens," he paused, looked hesitant. "Do you...Jeanne, do you want to keep this baby?"

She looked up at him, embarrassed to even be in this situation. "I think so," she murmured. "B-But like I said, I don't expect anything from you and I certainly don't want you to be all perfect and attentive - I just want you as you and that's that. I feel stupid," she hung her head.

And Dean laughed, not even one of those throaty chuckles. It was a laugh she loved to hear, one she waited on pins and needles for normally. She looked back up at him just as he went into kiss her forehead, the move so tender and warming she felt like she would combust right there.

"I didn't plan on doing any of that," he murmured. "So long as I get to teach the kid the right type of music, I'm good."

Jeanne chuckled then, but it was squeaky and nervous. "You can teach it whatever you want to."

He smiled softly and wrapped his arms around Jeanne, pulling her flush against him. "Then it looks like we're having a baby."

Jeanne bit her lip and wrapped her arms around him. "Looks like we're having a baby," she choked out.


End file.
